Morning Shenanigans
by Telepathapprentice
Summary: Little Matthew lives with both Arthur and Francis, and the two trade him off every so often. One morning, Francis shows up rather early to fetch him...and Arthur has to deal with the Frenchman.


"I want kissies!" Alfred cried plaintively, holding up his hands toward the open door. Francis, paused there, smiled softly before entering the room. Arthur appeared to be still asleep, buried under the blanket while the two boys sat at the end of the bed, both looking to Francis expectantly. The Frenchman approached the bed, reaching out to pick up Alfred.

"Oh, mon cher, you can have all ze kisses you want-"

"No! Not from you!" His small face scrunched into a frown, Alfred tried to shove him away. "From pretty ladies!" Francis paused in surprise, still holding him, while Matthew nodded from his position on the bed. "From girls! When they like you!" he echoed Alfred.

Francis carefully set the small boy back on the bed, glancing up at the apparently still asleep Arthur, before folding his arms to face the two. "Oh? And 'ow do you know that girls kiss you when they like you?"

"Well, Arthur said-" Alfred cut off suddenly as Matthew buried his face in the sheets, face reddening.

"Mattheiu?" Francis carefully pulled away at the sheets to reveal the boy.

"W-Well, Arthur said so, and at home, y-you always-"

"Yeah, see? It's true!" Alfred glared at the Frenchman triumphantly, chin in the air. "See, Arthur said that-"

A sudden thump from the head of the bed made all three of them look to the now fully awake Arthur, his fist still resting atop the nightstand which had served as his makeshift gavel. "I didn't say anything, half-pints, so don't go around saying I did!" His scowl was aimed at the children, but he soon turned to glare at the Frenchman. He held his position for a moment, then flopped back against the bed, taking his pillow and using it to cover his face. "Time to get up, boys."

The two children stared at him, unmoving, until he gestured vaguely with both hands. "Come on, up and at 'em…what's the song?"

Francis only watched amusedly as the two glanced down, playing with their fingers, before mumbling softly.

"Louder, boys, louder-I can't hear you!"

Sighing, Alfred began singing, with Matthew soon joining in with accompanying hand motions. "It's time, time, time to get up, it's time, time, time…" From under his pillow, Arthur tried to nod approvingly, shooing them away. "Go on, now, you better get ready for the day-"

Francis waved them back, glancing at the muffled Briton. "Angleterre, you must get up too."

"Bloody frog. Get out of here, I'm just fine as it is. Tell Francis I'm fine, boys."

The siblings remained silent, looking from Francis to Arthur and back again.

"Why are you even here, idiot?"

"To pick up Matthieu, of course. Why else would I be here?"

Sighing in defeat, Arthur sat up again and shoved away the sheets. "Just wait a mo, I'll have him dressed and satiated before you take him. Wait in the hall, or something."

Francis grinned suddenly, nodding. "Of course, of course." He carefully slipped out of the bedroom, beckoning to Alfred while Arthur's back was turned. The young boy, curious, glanced back at his brother before following the Frenchman, his bare feet sinking into the carpet.

Arthur quickly exchanged his bedshirt for a slightly crumpled dress shirt, pulling it over his head before turning to Matthew. "Now, little one, we have to get you ready…" Seeming not to notice Alfred's absence, the Englishman carefully carried Matthew back into the room the two boys shared, setting him on the bed before finding him an outfit. The two did not speak as Arthur helped Matthew into his clothes, but did trade smiles as he finished. "There we are. All ready for Francis, now, aren't we?"

Matthew giggled softly, sitting back on the bed to point at Arthur's pajama pants. "No, Arthur, you aren't! You still have to get ready!"

Smiling faintly, Arthur pulled at his shirt before sighing. "You are right, as always…why don't you wait outside the door while I quickly change, then we'll go down and get some breakfast, hm?"

Matthew only nodded, hopping off the bed to take Arthur's hand and walk with him back to the Briton's bedroom. Arthur quickly ducked inside and closed the door, soon reappearing in slacks and with his hair slightly more arranged than it had been before. He reached down to take Matthew's hand once more, helping him down the stairs before noticing a strange smell. His small smile quickly replaced with his more traditional scowl, he tugged the boy into the kitchen, glaring at the two culprits he found there.

"Francis. Corrupting the young, now?"

The Frenchman grinned, holding up a spoon with batter on the end. "Far from it, mon ami, I was making you breakfast. Alfred 'ere came to help me!" As if summoned, the small blond clambered up onto the counter, poking at the bowl full of batter.

"Probably poisoned…" Arthur muttered, eyes widening as Matthew released his hand and dashed toward Francis.

"Papa! Papa! Are you almost done?" Eagerly trying to peek over the edge of the counter, Matthew was suddenly swept up into Francis' arms, where he glanced at the assembled ingredients-with his brother in the middle of them.

"Almost, mon cher, I simply 'ave to cook them." Matthew's face fell, and Francis reached up to ruffle his hair lightly. "Do not worry, you can 'elp me next time."

"Alfred, get down from there!" Suddenly snapping to attention, Arthur dashed over to extricate the clumsy child from among the various ingredients, still frowning. Carefully depositing him on the floor, the Briton glanced up at his guest. "You mean to tell me you two do this often?"

Matthew nodded happily, nestling back against Francis. "Oui, mon ami, little Matthieu and I often make breakfast together. He knows most of my recipes by 'eart now, don't you?"

"Mhmm!" He hummed, still nodding. All the commotion made Alfred frown slightly, moving to tug on Arthur's pant leg.

"Arthur, why don't we ever do stuff like that? It was really, really fun!"

Arthur glanced down at him, still scowling, before glaring at Francis. "We don't do stuff like that because you're liable to get hurt. It's a miracle you haven't burned yourself yet this morning." Ushering the boy to the table, he pulled out a chair and began searching for plates. "Besides, Francis, I said I'd get them breakfast-I was expecting you around noon anyway. Why'd you have to show up so bloody early?"

Francis simply shrugged, setting Matthew on the edge of the counter before pouring a dollop of batter into a pan. "I was not busy this morning…"

"So bothering me is a perfectly acceptable activity?" Arthur finished setting the table, glancing up suddenly before tensing. His eyes widened, and he dashed over to the stove, gathering Matthew into his arms. "What are you doing? He could have fallen!"

Francis paused in his stirring, watching Arthur out of the corner of his eye. "But 'e did not. He was fine."

"Not if he was sprawled on the floor, bleeding most like-" Rocking Matthew slightly, he glared at the Frenchman. "Then what?"

"I would not 'ave let him fall…at the first sign of danger, I would have caught 'im."

"With a spoon in your hands?"

"Oui, with a spoon in my hands. A little batter on his shirt is worth it to catch 'im."

Arthur sighed, defeated, then turned to place Matthew in a chair beside Alfred. Francis simply watched quietly, placing his first few pastries on a nearby plate. The Englishman soon returned to watch him, setting out three other plates and evening out the stack of doughy creations.

"You care for them a great deal, mon ami." Francis muttered, nearly under his breath.

"Of course I do, frog!" Indignant, Arthur straightened, then relaxed. "They're…important to me."

"Hmm." He shrugged, turning off the stove and turning to carry out two of the plates. "It is…touching."

Arthur followed behind him, rolling his eyes and mumbling. "Touching, he says." Setting a plate before Alfred and another in front of his own seat, Arthur reluctantly picked up his fork and dug into the confection, resigning himself to a day dealing with the Frenchman.


End file.
